


The Brightest Fell

by ann2who



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Lucifer (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angel Wings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, Getting Together, Identity Reveal, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Devil Reveal, M/M, Post-Episode S03E24: A Devil of My Word, Protective Natasha Romanov, Redemption, Reveal, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve as Detective, Tony Is The Devil, Tony Stark Feels, Tony is Lucifer, Wing Kink, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann2who/pseuds/ann2who
Summary: For the past two years, Steve had never believed him when Tony had told him about his true identity. That he was, in fact, not just ‘Lucifer Morningstar’, but the actual ruler of Hell.No matter how often Tony had explained that he never lied, not ever, no matter how painstakingly clear the evidence had been at times, Steve had somehow always found a way to pass it all as jokes, delusions—or just strange coincidences.Truth, it seemed, was easy to overlook in the face of its overwhelming simplicity.Now though, even Steve wouldn’t be able to ignore it any longer.Who Tony was. Who he really was.Samael. Satan. The Prince of Darkness.





	The Brightest Fell

**Author's Note:**

> First off, you don’t have to watch "Lucifer" to read this fic, but of course there's lots of references to the TV show.
> 
> For those of you who know about Lucifer and also watched the Season 3 Finale - this is a follow-up to Episode 24. I changed a few details (There's no Cain, for example), but otherwise, I used lots of elements from the show and mixed them with Stony. If you watch Lucifer, but haven't seen the Season Finale yet, this fic might be a spoiler for you.
> 
> For those of you who have never watched Lucifer - just know this: Tony is the actual Devil, who, around two years ago, abandoned his throne in Hell to live in Los Angeles instead. Aside from running the high-class nightclub LUX, he also became involved with Detective Steve Rogers and worked as a civilian consultant (and Steve’s partner) to the LAPD. Tony and Steve had been on the verge of admitting their romantic feelings for each other numerous times, but aside from a few careful kisses, they never actually went through with it. The Devil never lies… and while Tony already told Steve about his true identity, Steve never actually believed that he is the real Lucifer. Not until now.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, I've been a huge "Lucifer" fan from day one and mixing Stony with the TV show was an absolute delight. My big thanks go to the wonderful [inshadowsoflove](http://inshadowsoflove.tumblr.com/) for betaing this. Thanks so much for your input, it really helped me a lot!
> 
> Lastly, please note that I mean no offense to any religious beliefs. This is supposed to be fun, nothing else. If a humanized version of Lucifer / the devil is offending you in any way, you shouldn't read this fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_“Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.”_ **

**_― William Shakespeare_ **

 

 

 

“It’s all true.”

The Detective had only whispered the words, and yet, they felt like a stab to Tony’s heart.

Slowly, realization began to dawn on him and he confirmed his suspicion when he looked down at his hands. The skin around his fingers was burned, raw and scalded red. And once Tony raised a hand to his own head, there was no single strand of brown hair any more, only more burned skin that surely looked as hideous as it felt.

His Devil Face. It had returned to him at long last.

Of course Father would give it back to him _now_.

Now that he’d finally condemned Obadiah Stane to Hell.

Now that Steve stood right in front of him. Seeing the truth with his own eyes. Seeing Tony for what he was. In the worst possible moment.

“Tony?” Steve breathed, terrible confusion and fear leaking into his voice. The fact that he still used the name Tony had given himself upon arriving in Los Angeles and not his real name—not _Lucifer_ —almost felt like a sacrament.

For a blessed second, Tony allowed his tormented soul to believe that there was something to salvage here. That he could find the words that were needed to convince Steve that Tony wasn’t exactly what he was.

The devil.

For the past two years, he and Steve had worked together side by side, solving one case after the other. And yet, Steve had never believed him when Tony had told him about his true identity. That he was, in fact, not just ‘Lucifer Morningstar’, but the actual ruler of Hell.

No matter how often Tony had explained that he never lied, not _ever_ , no matter how painstakingly clear the evidence had been at times, Steve had somehow always found a way to pass it all as jokes, delusions—or just strange coincidences.

Truth, it seemed, was easy to overlook in the face of its overwhelming simplicity.

Now though, even Steve wouldn’t be able to ignore it any longer. Who Tony was. Who he _really_ was. And the idea that this kind, brave man he’d called his partner for the last couple of years would hate him from here on out… it left Tony thoroughly gutted.

Tony swallowed as he turned around fully, taking in the tangible distance between them. Steve stood right in front of the entrance, eyes wide, fingers twitching next to where Tony knew he kept his gun.

Tony wisely remained where he was, at the far end of the room, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. Of course, with Stane’s corpse lying to his feet, and the many… _many_ bloodied feathers lying in a circle around him, that wasn’t exactly easy to achieve.

At least, his angel wings seemed to stay hidden for now.

Thank Dad for small mercies.

Closing his eyes briefly, Tony’s scarred skin began to soften again, the Devil Face making room for a more bearable appearance.

The transition, it seemed, finally jarred Steve out of his stupor. “How…” he started, then seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Like I told you the day we met,” Tony said and tried for a smile. “All of me is God-given.”

Steve swallowed hard, and now that he finally faced him—the _real_ Lucifer Morningstar—shock and a terrible knowledge took hold of his handsome features at long last.

_I did that,_ Tony thought miserably. _I allowed that to happen. Because I never tried to make him believe when I could’ve done it on my own terms._

Eyes still widened, Steve took a step back. And another. He looked about as shaken as Tony had ever seen him. Even all of these criminals, murderers, drug dealers and psychopaths they’d put in prison together over the years… none of them had managed to truly shake Detective Steve Rogers.

“I won’t hurt you,” Tony tried to soothe him. “I’m still me.”

“You’re the _devil,”_ Steve said, his voice as shrill as it could get. “Everything you said, everything that happened, all of it… it’s all—”

Tony sighed, but nodded. “True, yes. As you should’ve known by now.” He started walking towards Steve. “Detective, I—”

“Don’t!” Steve said, and raised a hand in a defensive gesture. He shook his head, once more staring at the feathers that still littered the floor. They were softly glowing despite of the blood soaking into their white fabric.

Fighting Stane truly had taken a number on his wings, Tony mused. The second Stane and his goons had opened fire on the two of them, Tony’s instincts had kicked in. He had shielded Steve with his wings, the bullets ripping a lot of his feathers to shreds, and yet, not a single projectile had made it through. Steve, while unconscious for the better part of the ambush, had not been hurt.

At the end of it all, Steve was fine. And Stane, the man who’d made their lives a living Hell for far too long, was dead—and that was all that mattered.

“I can’t,” Steve suddenly said. He glanced to Tony once more, looking at him as if he’d never really seen him before… and then, he turned around.

“Detective!” Tony called after him, far too much despair in his voice. “Steve!”

It didn’t matter, though. Steve didn’t stop. He walked right out of the room without looking back once. He practically ran up the stairs and into the bright daylight waiting for him outside.

Falling to his knees, Tony let his head sink.

That was it, then.

How foolish he had been. How utterly naïve he’d been to think that this unspoken thing between the two of them could ever work. Had he really thought that Steve could ever love him? That he could love the _devil?_

After all, Steve was _good_. The best human being Tony had ever met.

And Tony was… he was…

…not worth him.

With a wince, Tony spread his wings wide, ignoring the pain all of these bullets and broken feathers ignited within his body.

The fight with Stane had taken everything out of him. All of these past weeks, the many false trails leading to Stane’s hideout, before they’d finally found him here, in the middle of Los Angeles, and now sending Stane to Hell… Tony simply hadn’t been prepared.

He’d never bothered dealing justice to those who deserved it. Sending the guilty into the fiery pits of Hell where they’d be tormented with their worst nightmares had been his job for a good few millennia.

And yet, condemning Obadiah Stane had exhausted Tony in a way he had never experienced.

It would take days to fully recover, and even then, he wouldn’t come out of this mess unscathed.

Not when Steve would never want to see him again.

Tony groaned as he stretched. For centuries, pain had been such a foreign sensation. Only when meeting Steve, his immortal skin had suddenly hummed with awareness, making Tony feel alive, maybe for the first time ever. Steve had made him vulnerable, not just physically, but an all-encompassing vulnerability that transcended everything Tony had ever experienced.

To know that he’d lost all of this hurt more than his broken wings ever could.

Balling his hands into fists, Tony stood up. Sharp pangs seized his wings and sent echoes of hurt through his body with every intake of breath. The muscles in his back were tense with pain, frustration and fury—all of which demanded an outlet.

_Now_.

So he flapped the wings once, twice, and then, with a clear goal in mind, he swung himself into the air.

 

* * *

 

Steve let out a shuddering breath and parked the LAPD car in front of his house. Peter still seemed to be at his friend’s, and Steve was glad for it. Because while he had the urge to take his little son into his arms right now, knowing what he knew, to make sure he was safe—he also needed time to figure all of this out by himself.

He was a cop, dammit. He wasn’t supposed to go into shock that easily.

And yet…

That face.

Those _eyes_.

Those red, fiery eyes, like flames flickering in an otherworldly darkness. And Tony’s skin—scarred, red, burning.

Because Tony was the devil. The Fallen Angel. The Morning Star. The son that had rebelled against _God,_ demanding free will; the ability of choice. And he’d been cast out of heaven because of it and thrown down to Earth, falling like a comet.

That’s what Steve had seen, right? The burned flesh, the blistering skin, the glowing red eyes. That’s what rebelling had cost Tony. And that face, that horrific, gruesome face was only a representation of the pain he must’ve gone through.

_Lucifer Morningstar?,_ Steve remembered asking Tony when they’d first met. _Is that a stage name or something?_

_God-Given, I'm afraid,_ Tony had answered, then grinned at him. _But my friends call me Tony._

Closing his eyes, Steve’s mind recalled the many times Tony had insisted on his story to be true. And Steve had never believed him.

How could he, though? How could he _truly_ believe that his partner, his friend… this brash, snarky, obnoxious man… was the actual devil?

Then again, despite knowing… nothing had changed, had it?

Tony hadn’t become the devil today—he’d _always_ been. He’d never even denied it. And that meant that he was still Steve’s partner, his… whatever they’d been heading towards.

He’d _kissed_ the devil! Steve adamantly pressed his eyes closed, then let his forehead sink against the steering wheel.

How had his life possibly turned into… this?

He _was_ only a cop, wasn’t he? A single-dad who tried to take good care of his son. He wasn’t the kind of guy someone like Tony… someone so _ancient_ … should ever care for, right?

It wasn’t just Tony, though. It was Pepper and Rhodey, too. Tony had always called the two of them his siblings, which meant they had to be angels, too. And Natasha… All this talk about being a demon, that she’d followed Tony out of Hell, all those knives she kept with her at all times, well…

That had to be true as well.

For some reason, all of these supernatural beings had wormed their ways into Steve’s life. And he hadn’t even noticed.

The cell phone Steve had left on the backseat of his car rung and he almost didn’t bother to get it—he was too busy freaking out again.

A demon. He’d let a _demon_ babysit his little boy.

A laugh ripped through the silence, and it took a while for Steve to realize that the hysterical giggles were coming from him.

Another ring. His phone kept blinking, and eventually, Steve reached for it.

The only ones who would call him right now would be Bucky or Sam. His two colleagues had helped in finding Stane’s lair today. Sam, as the team’s forensic scientist, would be busy surveying the crime scene by now, and Bucky surely had taken the hint and stepped in after Steve had called at the LAPD, telling him that he needed to back down for the evening.

Steve leaned back as he picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Steve?” a voice asked tentatively.

Steve blinked, realizing it wasn’t either of his friends, but Dr. Bruce Banner, Tony’s therapist. He knew the two had become close friends over the years—that Bruce had helped Tony dealing with lots of traumatic issues, most of them concerning Tony’s own family.

Well. All things considered, Tony _did_ have the most dysfunctional family is the whole universe.

“Yes?” Steve asked cautiously.

“Um… it’s about Tony.”

A sigh. That didn’t come as a big surprise. “What about him?”

“Well… Natasha’s here with me, and she said that Tony showed up at the penthouse. He threw Bucky and Sam out. And Nat, too. She said he seemed pretty shaken and I’m… worried.”

Steve let the words linger for a moment, deciding to ignore the utter lunacy of that statement. _Worried about the devil._ Right.

“I see,” he said instead. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“We thought that… that you might know what happened.”

“I do know,” Steve said, huffing at his own words. “In fact, I know everything now.”

There was a long beat of silence. “So he showed you?”

_Not voluntarily,_ Steve thought, but gave his affirmation either way. “How long have you known?” he asked, then.

There was another lengthy pause. Bruce probably wouldn’t be too happy about sharing any sort of information about his patient. Steve knew, from his previous meetings with Bruce, that he took the ethics of his job very serious.

“A few months,” Bruce admitted eventually.

_“Months,”_ Steve exclaimed louder than he’d intended, and another breathy laugh escaped his lips. So Tony had told Bruce—even showed him—because he’d _wanted_ to.

_I am the devil,_ he remembered Tony telling him, only one day ago, on the balcony of his penthouse. Steve also remembered his own answer.

_No, you're not. Not to me._

Tony had wanted him to believe it then— _really_ believe it. And Steve _had_ , in some way. He’d heard the warning loud and clear, had understood that Tony thought himself to be so broken and undeserving that he’d wanted Steve to keep the professional distance between them. However, Steve had cast all that aside, kissing Tony instead, pouring all of his repressed feelings into that kiss, wanting Tony to know that, however dark his past might had been, their future could still be something good.

And yet, he’d never grasped the real truth behind Tony’s words. The truth that did not only question everything that had ever happened between them, but a truth that literally questioned _everything_.

“Bruce, just… just give me a minute,” Steve muttered. At some point, he had forgotten how to breathe, wheezing and groaning as he pressed air into his lungs. He leaned his forehead against the wheel again, the phone still at his ear and his free hand fisted against his breastbone, trying to hold back the painful thudding of his heart, trying not to just plain pass out.

“Take as long as you need, Steve,” Bruce was saying sympathetically. “Breathe. I know it’s a shock. I’ve been there. And I’ll wait. You just breathe.”

That was easier said than done. His breaths were coming in gasps. After all, his partner was the devil. The devil worked as a civilian consultant for the LAPD, because apparently, that was a thing that happened. God, heaven, demons, angels—it was all real. He’d been… he’d kissed an angel. He’d… he’d fallen in love with an angel.

With _Lucifer_.

No, not with Lucifer, not with the devil—with _Tony_. Tony who’d so often goofed around with Peter, who had played stupid board games with them and watched endless hours of cartoon movies while eating junk food. Tony, who’d helped Steve solving the case of his mother’s murder and who’d brought justice to so many victims in those last years.

_They always get it wrong,_ Tony had told him once. How TV and movies had painted a skewed picture of the devil, a horned evil being who loved torturing and deceiving and thrived on the pain it wrought.

_They did get it wrong,_ Steve silently agreed, feeling how his heart was suddenly too full of something very momentous.

“Bruce, I’m back,” he said into the phone, finally getting a hold of himself, though his voice still came out blurry through lips numb with shock.

“He’s still Tony,” Bruce said with that calming voice of his. “The same old Tony. I know it’s not enough right now, but you’ll see. He’s… still the same.”

Steve nodded, despite knowing that Bruce couldn’t see him. “I just…” He swallowed. “If he’s the devil, why… why is he even _here?”_

A celestial being, born at the very Beginning… Steve just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

There was no answer this time, and Steve figured that clearly wasn’t something Bruce would share with him. After a moment, there was a rustling on the other side of the line, and then there was Nat’s voice.

“He wanted to get away from all that,” she said, sounding more wary than ever.

Was she afraid? Afraid of what Steve would think of her? Now that he knew she was an actual demon and not just a really badass bounty hunter?

“From Hell?” Steve asked.

“No,” Nat said, “from the duty his father had thrust on his shoulders. From serving as God’s punisher. From being everyone’s scapegoat.”

Steve let those words sink in for a moment, but it was simply too much to grasp. At least, right now. There’d hopefully be a time for trying to understand Tony’s past—the Rebellion, the Fall, Hell, everything. For now, there were more important matters to deal with.

“Why did he never show me?” Steve asked and whenever he closed his eyes, Tony’s red eyes stared back at him. “He showed Bruce, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Natasha said with audible sympathy. “And you are faring far better than he was, if that’s any consolation.”

“It’s not,” Steve snapped.

Natasha sighed. “He could’ve shown you the truth a Million times, Steve. And the fact that he didn’t only shows how scared he was.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“Of losing you,” she said, scoffing as if that was the dumbest question she’d ever heard. “That’s what scared him the most.”

Steve let those words linger, not really knowing what to say to that.

“He feels deeply for you,” Natasha eventually went on. “I know because I tried to talk him out of it many times. We fought about you, _literally_ —he even fought his own brothers and sisters so he could be with you.”

His brothers and sisters. _Angels_.

“What he feels for you, it’s… more than he’s ever felt for anything or anyone,” Natasha added softly. “You understand what that means, right?”

He did. He’d seen it in Tony’s eyes. And the knowledge that the larger-than-life Lucifer Morningstar had somehow fallen for him, Steve Rogers, had been terrifying before, but it was a million times more so now.

He was only human, after all.

Steve closed his eyes, pressing his hands on top of them. He suddenly wished he had stayed with Tony, comforted him, instead of running out of the building. Leaving Tony to deal with the aftermath alone.

“Hey, Rogers.” Nat’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and Steve hastily brushed the hands over his cheeks, cleaning the evidence of his tears.

“Yeah?”

“Bucky and Sam are investigating the crime scene—I told them they have to keep it low-key as much as possible. Clean up any evidence of, well, you know, but I’m sure they’ll have some questions.”

Of course they would. The feathers, the blood… Stane’s corpse. It was a mess.

“But I’m more worried about Tony at the moment,” she went on. “He was not just furious, he was… done. Finished. He wants to sell LUX and I’m not sure what he’s planning.”

_He wants to run,_ Steve concluded immediately. Of course Tony would run, because that’s what he _did._ What he’d always done whenever a situation became too much for him.

Maybe he wanted to leave for good this time.

“I’ll go,” Steve said into the phone and already started the car’s motor.

“Be careful, Steve,” Natasha warned him. “He _can_ be very intimidating when he wants to be.”

“Well, I heard that’s his job, isn’t it?” Steve countered, satisfied with how matter-of-factly his voice sounded.

He heard Natasha chuckle and somehow, that sound— _the laughter of a demon,_ of all things—was proof enough for him that everything was going to be alright.

“Go get ‘em,” Nat said, sounding proud of him in a way Steve could hardly understand.

Because despite the still very prominent panic in the back of his mind, he _knew_ Tony. He knew his laughter, his smiles, even his tears. He’d tasted his lips and promised him that Tony would never be that for him: the devil.

And after all—Steve Rogers made it a point to make good on his promises.

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t enough alcohol on Dad’s green earth to drown out the harsh light of reality. And fuck it, Tony had tried. In the last few hours, he’d taken shot after shot, which only seemed to have the reverse effect. He couldn’t get drunk. Being the devil, getting drunk was a commitment of both the body and soul. He had to immerse himself in a _lot_ of liquor and convince his consciousness to let the world sleep for just a little while.

The world, however, refused to sleep today. The void eating away at his insides showed no mercy and no matter how much effort he put into dulling it all—he couldn’t.

There was nowhere to go. Not LUX and not even the high class night clubs that he and Natasha had frequented so often in the past years.

Tony let his gaze travel across the city.

Los Angeles truly held no appeal for him any longer. Here, his thoughts would always, undoubtedly, come back to the Detective. The man who had ruined everything for him.

In the shadows surrounding Tony, he kept seeing his face. The horror in his azure blue eyes that had overcome him once the initial shock had faded. He kept seeing Steve—a version of Steve who was truly terrified just by looking at him—and it was driving Tony mad.

He remembered wanting Steve that first day they’d met. Lusting after him, watching his muscled, attractive body as he’d chased his suspects, relishing in that earnest smile on his face and hardening beyond belief just at the sight of him. He’d known then, before even knowing Steve’s name, that he would be his greatest conquest.

Of course, Steve had been strangely immune to Tony’s charm, never confessing his deepest desires, not succumbing to Tony’s many propositions in the slightest.

Steve had always been different. And that’s why he’d been his ruin.

Slowly but steadily… Steve had become his reason for everything. Tony hadn’t _cared_ before meeting Steve. He hadn’t cared about much of anything despite enjoying a good buzz, a good fight, a good fuck—the more the merrier. He’d loved living the mortal life to its extremes, but he hadn’t cared much beyond that.

Living on Earth had been an endless pit of decadence and sin, mocking the way humanity preached a pseudo-morality that denied the sway of temptation.

He’d never cared, because he’d never known what it meant to care—to actually _want_ to care.

Not before meeting Steve.

The power the Detective held over him was terrifying enough. And once upon a time, Tony might have wished to be more than just his partner. Not anymore. Because Tony knew that if he kept going like this, there would be nothing left of him. Nothing that Steve didn’t own or control. And with as good and righteous as Steve was, Tony couldn’t allow himself to fall that hard for him.

If he didn’t let go of Steve now, it would be too late to walk away.

And he _needed_ to walk away. As soon as possible.

He’d told every one of his employees at LUX to go home for the night. By tomorrow, they’d all be informed that the club had closed for good, leaving them with an over-the-top compensation that should keep them afloat for the next year or so.

He’d sell the building, and then he’d start anew. Somewhere.

Or maybe it was time to go back to the one place he truly belonged. Maybe his brothers had been right all along.

Angels simply shouldn’t mingle with mortals.

Of course, once Tony had come to that realization, that’s when a scent hit his nostrils. The scent of an aftershave he knew all too well.

The Detective.

Slowly, Tony turned around, glancing at the man in question, who stood right in front of the elevator. There was an honest-to-Dad crowbar in his hands, and only now, Tony spotted the scratches at the elevator’s doors.

“You blocked the entrance,” Steve explained, breathing harshly. From the way his head was bowed, Tony suspected he was either preparing a speech or bracing himself for a fight.

Tony knew he had to make quite the picture, with the way he stood right in front of Steve. Chest bare, empty bottle in hand, wings stretching all over the room, feathers still bloody and broken. All around him, the penthouse lay in complete shambles. Broken glasses, chairs flung around, paintings thrown off the walls.

Steve’s eyes took it all in—and as expected, he stared at Tony’s wings for a very long time. There was even something akin to awe in his gaze. It was so very human of him. Even faced with the devil’s true form, he was still more hung up on those damned wings.

And something in Tony just— _snapped_. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to. With slow, predatory steps, he stalked forward, eyes slanted and primed on the Detective. He watched as the man stiffened with surprise, his big muscled body tensing up and his hands tightening on the crowbar as a low gasp slid past his lips.

“Go away, Detective,” Tony said, letting just a hint of the Devil’s dark, commanding voice slip into those words. “Leave. _Now_. There’s no need to explain yourself or to let me down easy. I got the message.”

The Detective’s eyes shone upon him with surprise and something very close to… sadness. But there was no fight. There was no fight in him at all. He let the crowbar sink, then fall to the ground.

“You’re the devil,” Steve said quietly.

Tony sighed. Wished for another drink. “That’s what I told you since the day we met.”

Steve sighed, too, wringing his hands. “You told me, yes, but never… I didn’t believe it was true.”

“I know you didn’t,” Tony agreed. “You humans don’t believe in divinity. Not even those who pray to Father every single day. Not _really_. Not all of it. It’s too much to handle for your fragile minds.”

Steve winced at the mention of his Dad, and that confirmed what Tony had already suspected: There were a lot of things Steve was desperately trying not to think about right now. Things he ignored for the time being. Which was clever of him, all things considered.

“Can we just… can we take this a step at a time? Please?”

“So you can _slowly_ come to terms with the fact that I’m the Antichrist?” Tony said, mocking him. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

A very familiar scowl appeared on Steve’s forehead. “That’s not very fair, is it? I’m _trying_.”

Tony scoffed and walked over to the bar, opening another bottle and relishing the fierce burning in his throat. “We both know how this will end, Detective,” he said. “You know now. There’s no going back. You know who I am, what I’ve done. I don’t imagine you’ll let me near anyone of your friends ever again. Or Peter.”

“You saved my life,” Steve said, coming closer. His gaze still flickered towards the wings, though he very obviously tried not to look at them. “I can’t… grasp it all, yet. I keep replaying every case we had in my head, everything that happened since I’ve met you, but it’s all a mess right now. And yet I know—I _know_ , Tony—that you died for me. You saved me. _And_ Peter. More than once.”

Tony turned his face away from Steve, taking a large swig from the bottle so he wouldn’t have to answer him.

“You want to leave, don’t you?” Steve demanded with noticeable anger in his voice. “Why do you _always_ do that?”

“It’s better for the both of us,” Tony replied. He willed his wings away again, wincing only slightly at the pain the movement still ignited in him.

“You don’t get to decide that alone,” Steve snapped.

He was standing right behind Tony by now and the second Steve put a hand on his shoulder, Tony whirled around, staring him down with red-glowing eyes.

It wasn’t even the full deal—not his Devil’s Face, and yet, Steve jerked back as if burned.

Then, however, something strange happened. Within seconds, the shock leaked from Steve’s eyes and something everyone at LAPD had dubbed “Detective Rogers’ Look of Disappointment” appeared on his face.

“You don’t get to scare me away, either,” he told him with a surprisingly strong voice.

“Oh, Detective. Don’t challenge me,” Tony warned, hands balled into fists after he’d put the bottle of scotch back on the bar counter. “Trust me, you’d be losing.”

But Steve, the stubborn moron, only straightened his back, looming over Tony of all things, and met the Hellfire in his eyes with something very close to an unimpressed expression.

_No one_ had ever looked at him that way.

“Show it to me again,” Steve demanded. “Your other face… the mask.”

“It’s not a mask!” Tony threw back at him. “It’s what I am. A monster.”

The fire of his eyes reflected in Steve’s as he moved towards him and Tony felt his own start to sting with comprehension.

Steve wouldn’t back down about this.

“You’re not a monster,” Steve said. “But you’re blaming me for not reacting decently when faced with something that’s throwing off my whole world-view. That’s hardly fair. And I think I earned another try.”

Tony’s throat ran dry and his heart started pounding. “You don’t want this. People tend to go insane when faced with… with me.”

“I had a moment,” Steve said, and the bastard even managed a small smile. “I walked it off.”

Tony couldn’t help himself, a breath that was somewhere between an aggravated huff and a surprised chuckle left his lips. He stared at Steve, maybe really seeing him for the first time—this brave, strong man, who once again managed to surprise Tony.

“Are you sure?” Tony whispered. “You can still go. Turn your back on me, go home to your son and never see me again. You can convince yourself, once you wake up tomorrow, that none of this has happened. God, angels, the devil—none of this has to be real.”

“I’m not cutting you out of my life,” Steve said, his expression one of pure determination now. “Show me. I want to see you. _All_ of you.”

Cautiously, Tony stepped closer, so close that Steve had to be feeling the heat emanating off of him. His lips thinned and his human appearance melted away. He made sure Steve saw it all. How the flames flickered over his skin, making him glow from within, slowly burning away his flesh.

And when he met Steve’s gaze again, Tony also made sure he saw the inferno in his eyes. The inferno that spanned over miles across a black sea. There was no light in the devil’s eyes, no sun, just a blanket of smoke and fire.

“This is me,” Tony said, once the transformation was over. “Samael. Satan. The Prince of Darkness.” He let a dark, archaic tone bleed into his voice, and was utterly floored, when, after a short moment of contemplation, Steve placed one of his hands on Tony’s left cheek.

“Lucifer,” Steve whispered, letting his thumb caress the scarred skin. And then, even softer, he added, “Tony.” Steve cracked a small smile. “I told you once—and I’ll tell you again: You’re not a monster to me.”

Tony stared at Steve for what seemed like an eternity. He meant that, he truly meant that.

Something inside him broke then, his resolve to leave Los Angeles behind—to go back to Hell—crumbling to dust.

The next thing he knew, his hands had already grabbed Steve’s shoulders and he pressed him against the nearest wall. His lips were mauling Steve’s in hot, hungry kisses. _Real_ kisses. Kisses unlike the cautious, uncertain ones they’d shared so far. Kisses that started fires only to lead them to explosion. His tongue plundered Steve’s mouth, and those kisses ignited things within him that were downright terrifying. He heard himself mewling against Steve’s lips, felt Steve’s own moans rumble against his chest.

Tony had always known… right from the Beginning, that he was a creature damned by his own nature. And he didn’t care anymore.

He’d let the flames of Hell lick his insides if it meant he got more of this. More of Steve. More of that mouth whispering words against his own, of Steve’s tongue exploring his mouth, his hands mapping out Tony’s body in ways that no one had ever done before.

 

* * *

 

In that very moment, the lines dividing black and white, good and evil, right and wrong vanished altogether. Tony might have been Lucifer, the devil, but he was still _Tony_.

It felt that years passed before they pulled apart, both gasping, Steve’s brow resting against Tony’s. It was oddly the most erotic moment of Steve’s entire life. Knowing that he could make a powerful being like Tony pant like that.

Somewhere between those kisses, Tony’s scarred red face had vanished. Instead, those beautiful, giant wings had decided to make an appearance again. Steve knew, because they had wrapped themselves around them both, keeping them locked together.

Steve raised his brow as he regarded his feathery prison, then, a shy smile reached his lips. “They feel very soft.”

Tony swallowed, looking more spooked than Steve had ever seen him. “I’m still the devil.”

“It’s just a name,” Steve said, the hand still resting on Tony’s cheek caressing his jawline. “It doesn’t define who you are. And who you are, Tony, is a good man.”

Tony mock-gasped, holding a hand over his heart. “Take that back.”

Instead of answering, Steve only rolled his eyes. And then, with his free hand, he let a finger drift over one of the feathers. They felt… different. It was hard to figure out what it was, but there was a warmth pulsing beneath—a light shining from within. They were beautiful—even now, even bloodied as they were. “Does it hurt?”, Steve asked, his voice cautious.

“Yeah,” Tony admitted. He sighed. “But it’ll heal, and it was worth it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

Steve nodded, then pressed another, rather chaste kiss against Tony’s lips. “Thank you,” he said. He opened his mouth to say something about Obadiah Stane, about the man they’d hunted down for the better part of the last year, however, what escaped from his lips was anything but what he had planned.

“I love you,” he said, his own eyes widening along with Tony’s.

It was true, of course. Despite the fact that Steve had never truly acted on his feelings, he’d known for a while now. He loved Tony. _Loved_ him. Today’s events hadn’t changed that.

Tony immediately held up his hand. “Don’t say that,” he said.

That brought a scowl to Steve’s face. “You don’t want me to say it because you’re afraid,” he said. “Because, you know it’s the truth.”

“It’s not,” Tony insisted, the wings letting go of Steve, and of course he’d be trying to get away, so Steve kept his hands on Tony’s shoulders, keeping him close.

“You’re the same man you were this morning,” he told him, “just with a good few thousand years at your back. You know you love me, too, and it scares the hell out of you.”

Tony’s lips twisted in what could have been the mockery of a smile—probably because of Steve’s phrasing.

“I _do_ love you,” Steve tried again.

“Detective...” Tony swallowed. “ _Steve_ …”

“Listen to me: devil or not, Lucifer or not—I’ve loved you for a whole long while now,” Steve said, emphasizing every word, as if once he put all his heart, all his force, all his conviction into them, even Tony couldn’t fail to hear him.

Tony, however, was regarding him with pure disbelief in his eyes. “You can’t mean that. Not really. And I couldn’t bear if—”

“I _love_ you,” Steve repeated, frustration leaking into his voice. “What does it take for you to believe that? I have… _never_ … trusted anymore than I trust you. You’re… selfless, loyal, clever and Peter _adores_ you. You’ve… you’ve helped me live again. After Peggy’s death, I’ve been a shell of a man, and you, Tony, you’ve brought me back. How could I _not_ love you?”

There was an endless moment of silence. Tony just stared at him, the wings twitching ever so slightly. Then, there was a wordless, agonized sound in Tony’s throat and kissed Steve again, almost painfully hard, over and over again, his mouth devouring Steve’s. And, oh, the taste of him, the feel of him, the long slides of that sinful, knowledgeable tongue against Steve’s. No one had ever kissed him like Tony, so passionately, his mouth so eloquent with everything that he was feeling. Tony kissed with his whole body, so focused on Steve that the whole world spun away and there was nothing left but them.

God, how could he have ever thought to throw this away?

The devil? That was only a name humanity had given Tony—an explanation for the evil things people were doing to each other. Lucifer had been an easy target… the son God had cast from Heaven, and no one ever questioned the reasons behind that.

One thing was absolutely clear, though. Devil or not, angel or not, Tony was his. _Lucifer_ was his. Completely. Unconditionally. And even though he’d yet to say the words, Steve knew that Tony loved him, too. Enough to die for him, apparently. Enough to sacrifice himself for Steve without asking for anything back at all. Oh yes, Steve understood now. He had worked through the shock and disbelief and horror, and seen who Tony truly was, and come out the other side with an understanding of what it was to love and to love truly.

Tony was kissing him and kissing him, his hands moving over Steve’s hair, his face, delicately moving over his skin in achingly gentle touches. Touches which never moved below his collarbone, as if he had no right to Steve’s body.

As if Steve wasn’t already his.

Steve however, had no such reservations. He let his arms close around Tony’s waist, pulling him in; his body rejoicing when he felt the evidence of Tony’s interest.

_This_. This was where he belonged. Where Tony belonged, too. In Steve’s arms, his hands hooked behind his neck, his face tilted upward in anticipation of his kiss.

And by God, the devil’s lips tasted like home.

Suddenly, the world spun as Tony lifted Steve off the floor, the wings still wrapped around them. Despite the fact that Tony was much leaner than Steve, he’d always emitted a vast amount of power, and finally, Steve understood why.

Within the blink of an eye, they were in Tony’s bedroom and Steve was being pressed into a very soft, silken bed sheet.

“You once said you’d never sleep with me,” Tony said, smiling as he kissed along Steve’s neck. “When Hell freezes over, if I remember correctly.”

Steve snorted. “I think today counts as a day of the Hell-freezing variety.”

“Bless you,” Tony said sincerely, the old Lucifer showing through for one wicked, laughing moment.

Before Steve knew what was happening, he was unbuttoning Tony’s jeans and Tony was unbuttoning his. Steve’s shoes were already gone, he didn’t know when. Tony’s thumbs hooked into his jeans on either side and he pulled. Jeans and his briefs both came off in one smooth movement, then Tony moved away for a moment to shove his own jeans down and kick them off.

“Wow,” Steve breathed, not really meaning to, but it brought once of Tony’s truly wicked, delighted smiles to his face, so Steve guessed it was alright. “You’re something,” he followed up, voice reverent.

Tony shuffled a little closer, and one of Steve’s hands trailed up his inner thighs, brushing lightly against his cock. Tony’s low rumbles of pleasure went right through him and Steve could sense the shift of in the air.

A second later, Tony was braced on his arms above him and Steve felt the length of his naked body sliding against him, chest and stomach and hips pressing into his. Tony made an odd sort of movement, a kind of side-to-side wriggle of his hips, settling himself between Steve’s thighs.

And the wings… the wings were still right _there_. Huge and white and angelic.

To distract himself from the very prominent proof of Tony’s divine origin, Steve wrapped his arms around the man’s middle. However, once he pulled him down, he couldn’t help himself and let his hands brush against the spot where the wings sprouted from Tony’s body. As soon as he touched the skin there, Tony’s body arched up hard against him.

“They’re… they’re really sensitive,” he ground out, a racking shudder going through his body.

“They’re gorgeous,” Steve countered, and pointedly let his fingers drift along the feathers.

Tony moaned at that, rutting against Steve’s thigh as he stared down at him. “You’re so hard,” Tony said exultantly. “You’re so hard for me.”

“Says you,” Steve said, grinning against Tony’s lips. “Come on, we’ve waited long enough for this.”

They certainly were past the point of foreplay. While Steve would’ve never admitted as much to Tony, he’d had thought about this about a hundred times already. How it’d be to have sex with Tony.

At first, he’d just been curious. _Lucifer Morningstar’s_ reputation had been all over the place and Tony himself hadn’t held back with talking about his many his conquests. But only once Tony had stopped propositioning Steve at every waking hour, when they’d _actually_ become friends, Steve had found himself seriously considering it.

And then… well. Considering had become longing really fast, and by now, he was positively aching for Tony, _dying_ for his touch. And the fact that he could feel Tony shuddering against him, rock-hard and leaking against his thighs, didn’t exactly help calm him down.

Being with Tony was like a forest-fire, blazing and all-consuming.

“Need you,” Tony gasped. “Need you in me _now_.”

“Please,” Steve said, his hands still buried in Tony’s wings, holding him near.

In a whirl of movement, Tony moved off him. He fetched something from the nightstand, then sat back down on Steve’s middle.

The smile he cast Steve was downright sinful, and Steve watched, completely transfixed, as Tony reached behind himself.

He was stretching himself, Steve realized. And the sight surely was too much for one human mind to handle. All that olive skin, that arch of his body, the wings— _those beautiful, regal wings—_ stretching out behind Tony in a manner Steve had only seen in Renaissance paintings.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve managed to say. He’d always thought so, but never dared to boost Tony’s ego even more.

“Says you,” Tony echoed back at him, smiling softly, only broken by a chocked-up gasp after one particularly deep thrust of his fingers.

Taking the bottle of lube in hand—and Steve very adamantly ignored the fact that it was almost empty—Steve coated two of his own fingers, then let them travel around Tony’s hips.

When he’d reached his goal, Steve groaned when he realized that Tony had already pushed three fingers into himself, rocking back against the movement in steady thrusts.

“You’re going fast,” he murmured, looking into Tony’s brown eyes.

“I like the stretch,” Tony replied easily.

_The pain,_ he didn’t say, but Steve was too enraptured to call him out on it.

“Let me,” he asked, and Tony nodded, pulling back his own hand so Steve could take his place.

And God, he was hot inside, like a furnace, gripping Steve’s fingers like a vice.

Another moan ripped through the air, once Steve had pushed his fingers further into Tony. “Harder,” Tony demanded, and of course he’d be absolutely unashamed as he gripped his beautifully curved cock, rocking between the two sensations.

Doing this with Tony’s wings still spread wide behind him gave all of this a very surreal feeling. After all, he was going to sleep with an actual angel. And yet, having Tony stare at him in the way he did, hearing his soft gasps and feeling his hand gripping Steve’s free one—made this the most intimate moment of Steve’s entire life.

“Stop,” Tony groaned after another beat, stilling against Steve’s fingers. He gazed down at him, at his face first, then down his body. “Fuck me,” he breathed, once his eyes had settled on Steve’s cock. “Please. I can’t wait any longer.”

Of course Tony wouldn’t be beyond begging. Holding back on what he wanted didn’t seem to be part of his nature, and Steve loved him for it.

“I have condoms,” Tony ventured hastily, “but I can’t catch any diseases, and…” He smiled and leaned down, nipping at Steve’s lower lip before brushing his mouth along his ear. “I want you to mess me up as best as you can.”

Steve groaned at those words, an almost broken sound. He gripped Tony’s hips in a bruising grip. It was… maybe not the wisest thing, to immediately adhere to Tony’s lewd suggestions, but at the moment, the very primal urge to mark Tony as his own was too much to ignore.

So he pushed at Tony’s middle until he was in the right position, then thrust into him in one hard, smooth stroke, pushing all the way in and then just that little bit further.

It was a tight fit, and Steve grimaced at the friction at first. Tony, however, only cried out in ecstasy and he gasped as he clenched around him. Steve stilled for a moment, letting Tony get used to him. He saw his eyes trailing to the ceiling, full of awe and passion behind half-dropped eyelids.

“You’re perfectly big, Detective,” Tony muttered, so low that Steve hardly heard him.

“It’s you taking me,” Steve praised, staring at Tony’s hard, leaking cock that hadn’t softened for so much as a second.

Tony laughed, a strangled, delighted sound in his throat, male and flattered, and Steve revelled in the knowledge that he could fill Tony, stretching him to the utmost. It was exactly the perfect fit.

With obviously practiced movements, Tony started to move. He pulled off of Steve and thrust back down again hard, groaning in helpless rapture. Steve thrust back, too, finding Tony’s rhythm and moving with it, shoving into Tony’s ass as best as he could.

And Tony… truly was a work of art. He sinfully moved on top of him, head flung back, his eyes closed, body arching even further, his hands running all over Steve, fingers raking down Steve’s chest, his arms, drawing angry red lines all over him.

_“Ah,”_ Steve gasped at the pain—at the pleasure—, he couldn’t even be sure, completely out of his mind with the feelings.

Their hips were slamming against each other now as Steve pistoned into Tony, ramming into him with all his strength. He heard the little grunts of effort Tony made at every thrust and they only got him to move that little bit faster.

“Oh God, I’m gonna come,” Steve gasped. “God, _Tony.”_

“Keep my Father out of this,” Tony answered, though his words were hardly making sense at this point. “Come for me,” he urged. “Come, baby.”

Steve moaned, loud and surprised at the endearment. He all but shook as Tony suddenly leaned forward, dropping his forehead against Steve’s. He wanted to watch him come, Steve realized, and Steve couldn’t do anything but give him exactly what he wanted.

His whole body convulsed in an orgasm so shattering he thought he would burst into a million pieces. Vaguely, he felt Tony pressing his lips against him, murmuring a lot of _very_ colorful words against his mouths, but his brain was too busy catching up with the rest of his body.

He came back to himself just as Tony’s own climax hit. His body had seized up again and his cock pulsed in his own hand and Steve thought that nothing was more beautiful than Tony’s face when he came.

There was a flash of red in his eyes, before he squeezed them shut in a pleasure that bordered on pain and his lips parted on a groan that rasped harshly from his throat.

After another beat, he collapsed against Steve’s chest, his breath erratic.

Steve looked at him and held him through the aftershocks. Was the devil supposed to be so very human?, he wondered, and wrapped his arms around the shaking man on top of him. Softly, he kissed Tony’s eyelids and the crease between his brows, then felt him smile against his throat.

“Was it as good as you’d imagined it?”

Steve was about to say _“Even better”,_ when he saw through the question. “I didn’t imagine it,” he answered instead.

Tony snorted, then turned his head a little. “Sure you didn’t,” he said, then rubbed the side of Steve’s face with his nose of all things, kissing the corner of his jaw, just under his ear.

“It was amazing,” Steve conceded, because it had been. So much, in fact, that Steve was sure he’d never feel something even close to this, should Tony ever leave him.

“I could die right now,” Tony murmured. “Wouldn’t mind a bit. This is far better than Heaven. Couldn’t ask for more.”

Steve stilled at those words, unable to truly grasp the weight behind them.

“You’ll _have_ more,” he whispered back. “You’ll have as much as I can give you.”

At that, Tony grinned. “Endless sexcapades, you mean? Why, Detective, I never would’ve thought.”

“Not just sex,” Steve said, looking at Tony with as much sincerity as he could relay with his eyes only. “Everything. I want to… I want to share my life with you, for as long as you want.”

Tony’s grin dimmed at that. He raised himself to his elbows, looking down at Steve, and his wings once more cocooned them in their softness. “Forever,” he whispered and Steve felt his heart skip a beat as he nodded.

“Forever,” he agreed and pulled Tony even closer.

Of course, it was hard to say if they really could have a future. After all, Steve had no idea how long Tony could truly stay away from Hell. If he could stay here on Earth at all.

And yet, Steve didn’t want to think about the inevitable end of their relationship when they’d only just touched the beginning. Before they’d had to part ways again, they had a series of moments together that Steve wanted to fill with happiness. Something he wanted Tony to carry with him for the rest of his immortal life.

For now, Steve had the promise of Tony’s warmth and that was enough. It was more than the world had ever given him.

The man in his arms might have a dark side—a truly terrifying one, inspiring fear and anguish and guilt in the people that deserved it. And yet, there was also a fierce light shining within him, illuminating his kindness, his loyalty, his strength.

Because even though God had cast Tony out of Heaven, He’d also made him the brightest of His angels.

And even now, with his red eyes, his scarred face and the broken wings...

…he was the brightest still.


End file.
